


Long Way Down

by IntoThatGoodNight



Series: Think Again [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Season 9 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 20:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15009269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoThatGoodNight/pseuds/IntoThatGoodNight
Summary: This is a brief Season 9 deviation where instead of getting over his vitriol for Dean saving him, Sam decides to take his wanted bargain with Death back up after he learns of his betrayal. The PoV is Dean's, after he learns what Sam's done.





	Long Way Down

**Author's Note:**

> This was made back in 2014, but I re-found and thought 'this isn't too horrible, I can repost it'.

His hands shook too hard to hold the bottle of Jack Daniels; the glass neck slipping from his grip to hit the hard motel floor with a dull 'thunk'. The only sounds in the dark room were the muffled rumble of the storm outside, the steady dripping sound of the whiskey as it dribbled form the lip of the glass bottle, and Dean's heavy, erratic breathing.

 

He had left... again. He had left because at the time, he had known it was what Sam needed. He always knew what Sam needed... or at least, he thought he did. Looking back on things now, sitting on a cheap motel bed three states from Lebanon, Kansas, Dean Winchester wasn't sure _what_ he knew anymore.

 

Cas had called him only an hour earlier. Sam had taken on a simple hunt by himself, not telling the angel where he had gone.

 

He died; bled out slowly without sparing a single breath to call for help.

 

Dean's first thought then had been that Cas was lying to him; that Sam just wanted to fall off Dean's radar again but this time for good. But it only took a moment after for him to remember just _who he was talking to_. Cas had done his fair share of terrible things, but he would never do this.

 

And Sam would never make him.

 

His second instinctual urge had been to pack up all of his things and rush back, back to Cas and back to Sam. He had just finished packing and grabbed the keys to the impala when the storm hit, and with it, an epiphany.

 

Just what the hell would he do when he got there?

 

Wasn't this what Sam wanted all along?

 

The thought was bitter on his tongue and in his mind; just barely resisting the urge to throw the bag in his hands across the room with the intent to break _something, anything._ Had Sam gone out with the full intent to let himself be killed? He didn't think his brother had that in him-- no matter how hard their lives had gotten, they had always pushed through with a fight.

 

But then again, he only recently learned that his brother had been serious about his intent to let Death take him, and for good.

 

He cursed quietly in the dark instead, ignoring the loud rumble of thunder and letting the packed bag drop to the floor with an odd medley of sounds. The digital clock on the nightstand read two thirty in the morning, a time when Dean would normally be at the bar, fighting off memories of their last conversation.

 

He could see him now... in his mind, Cas had already brought Sam's body back to the bunker. He would have likely already cleaned up the body with some simple angel mojo wave of his hand-- his mind absently supplied that the hand gestures were Gabriel's thing, not Cas'-- and Sam would probably be preserved.

 

Cas was probably waiting patiently for Dean's return, giving him space to think rather then calling or coming to find him. The older Winchester found himself loathing the choice; he didn't want time to think. He didn't want Sam dead either, but here they were.

 

He hadn't even said he was sorry.

 

The taste of that particular failure was foul, and he found bile rising in his throat despite having had a full meal earlier and barely any alcohol in his system... yet. Fighting back the feeling, he white-knuckled the cheap motel sheets as a quiet grunt escaped his throat.

 

Thoughts, memories, crept in unbidden. He had always been masochistic with finding fault and taking guilt when he thought it due. Remnants of their life together, before the apocalypse and Metatron slowly trickled in.

 

“ _Do you ever actually watch daytime TV?” Dean asked as Sam entered the hospital room, staring at the inanimate object with barely-concealed disgust. “It's terrible.”_

 

_Sam sighed. “I talked to your doctor.”_

 

“ _That fabric softener teddy bear.” Dean expelled a whooping breath. “I'll hunt that little bitch down.”_

 

“ _Dean.”_

 

_Dean's tired eyes flickered up to his brother, before he sighed, clicked the television off, and murmured a quiet 'yeah'. The remote was tossed to the side of the bed lazily._

 

“ _Aright. well, looks like you're gonna leave town without me.” He murmured with a note of finality, as if the topic weren't up for debate._

 

_Sam shook his head in mild disbelief. “What are you talking about, I’m not going to leave you here.”_

 

“ _Hey, you better take care of that car. I swear I’ll haunt your ass.” Dean eyed him seriously, practically ignoring his younger brother._

 

“ _... I don't think that's funny.”_

 

_A feeble smirk tugged at the elder brother's lips. “Aw c'mon. It's a little funny.”_

 

_Sam tried to smile, but couldn't manage more then a faint twitch of his lips before he was looking around... anywhere but at his brother. Dean recognized it for what it was, but remained silent for a moment._

 

“ _Look Sammy what can I say man, it's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story.”_

 

_Sam turned to him sharply. “Don't talk like that, alright? We still have options.”_

 

“ _What options? We got burial and cremation.”_

 

_Sam's brows furrowed, an incredulous bitchface taking hold._

 

“ _I know it's not easy,” Dean kept going, “But I’m gonna die... and you can't stop it.”_

 

_Sam nodded a moment, before his eyes flickered up to catch his brothers, and his lips pursed in rebellion. “Watch me.”_

 

He could remember that moment, the first time he had been so close to death, a Reaper had come for him... touched him. He had been calm then, ready to take his death like every hunter before him. Sam though, hadn't wanted to let him go no matter what; spending hours, days, on looking up various ways to heal Dean.

 

And then the Reverend had happened to him. A blind man believing he held the power of God, when it was only his wife who controlled the Reaper, commanding it to take life in order to give life. His brother had pushed him into it... and because of it, in exchange for saving Dean's life, a life had been taken.

 

He remembered that even then, he hadn't blamed Sam.

 

His brother had been trying to save him, wanted to save him, and had succeeded. He didn't know what the cost of saving Dean's life would be until it was over. They couldn't take it back.

 

Expelling a loud breath in the stillness of the room, Dean let himself fall back against the bed after picking up the forgotten bottle of whiskey. Overhead, the thunder roared; the storm picking up as the weather channel had said it would earlier.

 

Soon enough, even driving wouldn't be an option.

 

He didn't need to drive anywhere though, he reminded himself with a muted snarl. The now half-empty bottle made its way back into his hand with an awkward reach-and-tug from the floor with barely a thought, and three deep swallows of the remaining burning liquid were enough to brush away the sudden spike of rage... or at least dull it.

 

“Sammy...” The sound would have come off quiet and broken if not for the downpour of rain and the gale winds that whistled through the cracks of the motel's glass windows.

 

What was he going to do now?

 

_When Sam found out about the deal Dean had made in exchange for his life, he was livid. There were few times that Dean had seen his brother so unhinged, and deep down inside he knew that part of the cause was because he was putting his brother through yet another fear of losing him._

 

_He was selfish. He knew what he had done, and he refused to lie about it now. He was going to die in one year, in exchange for bringing Sam back. Sam would have to live, alone, without his brother because Dean couldn't live alone without Sam._

 

_So he held his shield of cockiness that he knew Sam saw right through, because in the end he would always take Hell for Sam. Always._

 

“I would've taken it this time too.” He muttered around the lip of the bottle. “But I guess we're both selfish, cause if I did that then you'd bring me back just to bitch me to death again, wouldn't you?” his words slurred slightly, but it hardly registered.

 

It didn't matter anyway.

 

It was after a moment though, that he realized belatedly that Sam had seen him die more then just a couple of times. He had nearly forgotten about Mystery Spot, and the confrontation with the Trickster-- who was actually the Archangel Gabriel and the biggest douche Dean had ever had the misfortune of bitching at-- and the repeated deaths Sam had had to deal with.

 

His brother had told him it had been over a hundred at least, even though he didn't remember a single one. But that story had never seemed like the end of it. He was jumpy even the day after, and had developed a keen _sharpness_... as if he was far more used to hunting and survival then Dean had given him credit for.

 

But whatever it was, Dean hadn't pried. Now, he wishes he had.

 

He wishes he had asked all of the questions that still remained unanswered between them.

 

He would even answer-- to the best of his currently-drunken ability-- the questions Sam had wanted to know that Dean had always not-so-subtly ignored or avoided. He realized numbly that this was bartering, and it was one of the five stages of grief.

 

He snorted into the bottle of alcohol, tipping it back again.

 

“ _I killed Benny for you...”_

 

No. No, that was too soon. Too soon, he couldn't deal with that right now. The bottle of Daniels was almost empty with how he had been downing it, but he had another bottle in the bag just in case. Tossing the empty bottle when he was done with it, he lurched up to search for his discarded bag.

 

Overhead, it was as if the thunder disapproved of his drinking, the attempt to dull the invading feelings of self-hatred and loneliness. As if he was meant to suffer. He probably was.

 

“I'm sorry, Sammy.... so sorry...”

 

“ _Dean... this, this hear, now... this is what's gonna save you!”_

 

_Dean paused, turning back to his brother with an incredulous scoff. “What, chasing some Frankenstein?”_

 

“ _Chasing immortality.”_

 

_Dean froze, any witty retort he could have made, dying on his lips. Sam continued on._

 

“ _Look, Benton can't die. We find out how he did it, we can do it to you!”_

 

“ _... What are you talking about?” Brows furrowing, Dean Winchester wasn't sure of what he was hearing from his brother just then. He could feel an inky coldness seeping through him._

 

“ _You have to die before you go to Hell, right? So if you can never die--”_

 

“ _Wait, wait, wait, wait a second...” He interrupted Sam, taking a few steps closer and trying to dispel the feeling in his gut. It wasn't working. “Did... did you know that this was doc Benton from the jump..?”_

 

_Sam shifted; a barely-perceptible slide of his eyes and a split-second hesitation, but it was enough for Dean._

 

“ _No.”_

 

_Dean only stared at him, the incredulous look deepening._

 

“ _Look, I was hoping--”_

 

“ _So the whole zombie thing, was lying to me?”_

 

“ _I didn't want to say anything until I was sure Dean, all I'm trying to do is find an answer here.”_

 

“ _No, all you're trying to do is-- is chase slicey-Mc-hackey here... and to kill him? No, you wanna buy him a freaking beer, you wanna study him.”_

 

“ _I was just trying to help.”_

 

“ _You're not helping, you forget; that if I welch on this deal, you die. Guess what, living forever is welching.”_

 

“ _Fine then, whatever the magic pill is, I'll take it too!” Sam yelled, voice raising louder the more Dean argued with him._

 

Out of all the memories that could have come up, Dean hadn't expected to remember the zombie doctor, Benton. Sam hadn't listened to him then; staring him down and demanding that he stay. For Dean... whether he wanted it or not.

 

He could remember Sam pulling him aside, half-pleading with him for the immortality spell.

 

“ _Dean...”_

 

_Sam looked at him, the lost expression tinged with hopefulness that Dean would hear him out. “I mean we're talking Hell in three weeks or needing a new pancreas in like half a century.”_

 

_Dean gave him an odd look. “Yeah, well you can't exactly get those in a quickie mart.”_

 

“ _It's not perfect, but it buys us more time to think of something better. We just need time, please just think about it.”_

 

_Looking away from his brother, Dean's upper lip curly lightly. He couldn't tell which feeling was more prevalent; the disgust, the worry, or the fear of his own death and the offer of permanent life... at the cost of becoming the very thing they hunted._

 

_In the end, it didn't take him long at all to reply. “... No.”_

 

 

_Sam's face contorted with anger, but beneath that Dean could see the fear leaking through. “Dean, don't you want to live?”_

 

“ _What he is, isn't living.”_

 

And there it was.

 

Bottle still half-in, half-out of his mouth, Dean let it go... the whiskey splashing over the sheets as he bolted from the bed. He didn't care about the storm, he didn't care that all of the remaining clothes in his bag were dirty, or that the impala's keys were still sitting on the night table.

 

Unlatching the door as bile burned its way up his throat, Dean threw open the motel door and stumbled out into the rain, releasing the contents of his stomach onto the wet cement below. The only sounds were the roar of thunder in his ears, and the raging torrents of rain on either side of him.

 

The icy coldness of the water that pelted him, mixed with the burning acid of the whiskey and stomach fluids, made a disastrous mixture. For a moment, severe vertigo overtook him, and his knees hit unforgiving sidewalk as his hands clenched the curve of the walkway.

 

It only took a minute before he was soaked through... but the only thing he saw was his reflection in the rippling puddles. Dismay, horror, realization... disgust. Hatred.

 

Disgust and hatred for what he'd done.

 

“ _Okay... okay.” Sam strode over quickly, sliding into the seat across from Dean. “Just once, be honest with me. You didn't save me, for me. You did it, for you.”_

 

“ _... What are you talking about?”_

 

_Sam leaned forwards, looking Dean in the eye as he spoke. There were no games here, no hiding, no charades. “I was ready to die. I was ready. I should have died. But you...” Trailing off a moment, Sam shook his head with an indecipherable expression. “You didn't wanna be alone.”_

 

_Dean's eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, before he began to lean back a moment, shocked into silence._

 

“ _And that's what all this boils down to. You can't stand the thought of being alone. I'll give you this much, you are certainly willing to do the sacrifice... as long as you're not the one being hurt.”_

 

When his convulsing stopped, the dry-heaving turning up nothing more, Dean grit his teeth and clenched his eyes shut. There was no one else around at this time of night, and not in this storm. Only ten feet away, the impala loomed like a silent reminder of all the things he and his brother had never said.

 

But it was all here now... the ugly truth of everything. He hadn't wanted to listen to Sam before, and now that he was, it made little difference.

 

“ _Alright you wanna be honest? If the situation were reversed, and I was dying, you'd do the same thing.”_

 

_Sam's eyes darted away slowly, his expression contemplative, but sure. It was then that Dean thought that whatever was going to come out of his brother's mouth, he didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to know. But he could no more leave, then tell Sam to shut up._

 

_Sam shook his head slowly, eyes trained on the table for a moment as he spoke softly, but surely. “No, Dean.”_

 

_He shook his head again. “... I wouldn't.”_

 

“Just...” And now Dean shifted so that his knees rested easier on the cement. He could see small lines of blood; he had ripped his pants with the unforgiving collapse and ground away skin.

 

“If you're gone... if you're really gone,” He muttered, knowing that no one would hear him but wanting, needing to speak right now regardless. “Then just... be fucking happy. Be happy up there with whoever's up there—Ash, and Jo and Ellen. 'Cause I swear to God Sammy, if I find out you're just being fucked over up there too--”

 

He balked, unable to continue. He wasn't aware he had started crying until the sob squeezed his diaphragm, causing him to curl inwards a little more. The tears he shed only mixed with the rainwater and he was freezing cold from being soaked through.

 

“Fuck, Sammy... I get it... this is what you wanted. But _what am I supposed to do without you, little brother? What the hell am I supposed to do?_ ”

 

But the rain didn't give him any answers.

**Author's Note:**

> I know we all know what really happened, but I wrote this for just after the episode where they fought over Dean 'saving' him yet again, and wondered 'what if Dean actually listened this time'.


End file.
